


Master Assassins

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow Oneshots [5]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dishonored AU, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Snarky Corvo, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9005707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: After becoming a fully fledged Whaler, Corvo decides he'll be the one to take Slackjaw down.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McDonald195](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McDonald195/gifts).



Quinn smacked down a pair of Two Towers, and fixed him with a smug, shit eating grin. “Pay up, Attano.”

Corvo did, begrudgingly and after kicking the leg of Quinn’s chair with his boot.

The Whaler flailed before steadying himself. “Fucker.” Quinn scooped his winning coin into a pile, and shuffled the card deck ready for the next hand.

Scatterings of candles lit their hideout; a cosy corner in the archive room, veiled behind a bookshelf, their small table covered with bottles, smokes and coin. Corvo knew if Chester caught them there, they’d be in for it. _The archive room is a place of learning, not debauchery and time wasting_ , the cranky Whaler would snap at them. _Under no circumstances are the books to be spoiled by disrespectful tykes putting their dusty boots up all over them_.

But Corvo didn’t care if they were caught. Not today. Quinn had passed his final trial out in the city, and now they were both assassins. Nothing in the world could bring their spirits down.

Quinn shook his head, “Master assassin. Still doesn’t sound real. But we’ve earned it, after all the shit they’ve put us through.”

“Two years,” Corvo said quietly. No, it didn’t sound real at all. Two years of training, of blood and sweat and bruises, and now they were here. “Feels longer than that.”

“Feels like a lifetime.” Quinn tugged the sleeve his coat down; rich, black fabric, not the grimy creams and blues of the novice uniform anymore. “You know, there were days I never imagined I’d get here.”

“Target training days?” Corvo guessed. “You had shitty aim.”

 _“Had_ being the important word,” Quinn argued, flicking a coin towards Corvo’s face. Corvo brought his hand up to shield himself, and the coin bounced off his palm, clattering down onto the table. “I’ll have you know I’m the best shot in the Isles now.”

“I’m sure the training dummies can vouch for you.” Another coin flew at him, and this one hit his shoulder. “Like I said, shit aim if that was going for my head.”

“Anyone told you you’re a smartass?”

“Not today.”

“You’re a smartass.” Quinn’s fond tone softened the words. “But you know I wouldn’t be here without you, yeah? Don’t know what I would’ve done without you fucking up with me the last two years.”

Something in Corvo’s chest skipped; a small tug that made his throat tighten. He didn’t know what he’d have done without Quinn, either. It was strange, to have a friend that meant so much to him. He’d never had anyone like that before, back in Serkonos.

“You mean watching you fuck up,” was all he said in response, too self-conscious to voice the sentiment. Quinn would only tease him for it, anyway. “Think I prefer you insulting me.”

“You’ve got weird hair and a face like a hagfish. Better?”

“Deal the fucking cards.”

Quinn stifled a chuckle as he did so in case they were overheard, but it didn’t look as though any of the men were passing through the archives that afternoon. “Wonder when Jenkins’ll get called in for his trial. The choffer’s going to piss himself when he gets the summons, I’ll bet.”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t scared this morning.”

“Course I was,” Quinn shot back. “But Jenkins is a jittery son of a bitch anyway. What d’you reckon Daud will have him do?”

“Abduction. Kidnapping a noble or something.”

“You think?”

“He’s good at it.”

“Yeah, suppose he is. You did infiltration for yours, right? Stealing a painting for some art dealer?”

Corvo nodded, feeling a thrill run down his spine at the memory. For two years he’d been using the flooded buildings as practice for keeping to the shadows and quietening his steps. His trial in the Estate District a few days ago – sneaking around Lord Shaw’s unfamiliar manor, shifting under tables and using bookshelves to keep out of sight of the Watch guards stationed there – had merely been a flavour of what was to come. He was restless by nature, eager to get out into the city again now he’d had a taste of it.

Quinn stretched his arms above his head. His leg was bobbing up and down as he tapped his foot. He was restless, too. “We’ll be assigned jobs soon enough, just think,” he said wistfully. “We’ll be able to choose our own targets, Districts, the like. Get out of here for a while.”

Nothing sounded better. Rudshore was Corvo’s home by all accounts, but after two years of being cooped up there as a novice, confined to the surrounding District and allowed no further out, it was starting to feel like a cage.

“And,” Quinn continued, swaying back on his chair. Corvo resisted the urge to try and topple it again. “We might even get some of the high end jobs. Taking out aristocrats and key gang leaders. Imagine that.”

“Imagine that.”

“Maybe a Watch Captain. Maybe a Boyle or two. Maybe Slackjaw.”

Corvo scoffed. "Right."

“You laugh all you want, but I reckon we could take him down.”

“Sure,” Corvo said. “It’s not as though anyone’s tried before. Apart from Rulfio, Rinaldo, Billie, Akila, Thomas, Arden, Yuri, Andrei, Leon, Misha. And Daud. You know Daud? The Knife himself?”

“Sarcastic prick,” Quinn teased. “Billie almost got him.”

“Luck. She didn’t know he’d be in that barber shop.”

“She still almost got him.”

 _“Almost.”_ Corvo crossed his arms. “When he was out of the Distillery. He doesn’t leave anymore, and no one’s ever gotten in.”

“You could.”

Corvo smirked, until he noticed that Quinn wasn’t smiling. “You’re serious.”

“You could get in.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re a good infiltrator.”

“I’m good, I’m not a miracle worker.”

“You sneak us into the Distillery,” Quinn ignored him and leaned closer across the table. Corvo could see it in his friend’s eyes; a small idea had just become a very real consideration. “And then I put a bolt between Slackjaw’s bushy eyebrows.”

“You’re serious,” Corvo repeated.

“Dead serious. We’re master assassins now. And I’ll bet every coin in Dunwall that we’re better than Thomas and Billie were at our age.” Quinn paused, wracking his mind for ammunition to get Corvo on his side. “No one’s gotten close to Slackjaw in years. It’ll be a _challenge.”_

“Don’t try and tempt me.”

“Dare you.”

“It won’t work.”

“Come on,” Quinn dragged the words out, batting his eyelashes and resting his chin in his hands in an attempt to look innocent. His smile looked more scheming than innocent, in Corvo’s opinion. “Think about it. Us out in the city, no Chester or Rulfio telling us what to do, doing the job our own way. You’re sick of being stuck here too, I know you are.”

The Whaler always knew just what to say, clever bastard. Corvo wasn’t just sick of it. He was going stir crazy; pent up energy making his blood burn, all that adrenaline and nothing to do with it. And soon enough, he found himself mulling it all over. They were master assassins now. They were permitted to leave the District, so long as they were on a job. And Slackjaw’s portrait was on the wall in the office, which meant he was an open target...

“Best shot in the Isles you said?”

Quinn grinned.

***

They arrived in the Distillery District an hour after sundown. The cover of night would give them an advantage; more dark places to take cover, more shadows to blend in with. Less chance of being seen. Slipping away from Rudshore had been easy. They knew the patrols by heart, and Corvo knew over five different routes that led into the city. Some of the pathways he doubted even Daud knew about.

Perched above the city, Corvo felt free. This was where he was meant to be. Not restricted to the crumbling walls of a single District.

Overlooking the only entrance to the whisky Distillery, Quinn nudged his side. “So how do we get in, almighty infiltrator?”

“One of them has to have a key,” Corvo answered, scrutinizing the pair of Bottle Street thugs guarding the door below. “How many bolts did you bring?”

“Ten. A full set.”

“Plenty to spare,” Corvo muttered, keen gaze searching the alleyway around the corner. “Any of the bottles down there. Hit one. Make a distraction so they’ll move.”

“Got it.” Quinn squeezed one eye shut, extending his arm. His wristbow clicked, and an old beer bottle smashed as the bolt shattered it.

The thugs drew their cleavers. “Outsider’s crooked cock! What the hell was that?”

“Don’t ask me, Tommy, you mudlark! Go take a look. Make sure it ain’t Hatters or the Watch creeping around where they don’t belong.”

Tommy moved forward, stalking towards the alleyway. “You gonna cover me or what, Alec?” he snapped over his shoulder.

While the thug rounded the corner, Alec paced away from the door, leaving enough space behind him for Corvo to blink down. He found a gold key strapped to the thug’s belt, and unlaced it quickly. Right on cue, another bottle shattered further into the streets.

“ _Void-damned_ – Where are you hiding?! Alec, c’mon!” The thug’s voice echoed from out of sight. “Let’s get this deadbeat!”

Alec sprinted into the alley and then towards the neighbouring street, Corvo remaining unnoticed by the distillery door. Quinn appeared beside him, loading another bolt into his wristbow.

“Good shooting.”

The Whaler gave a little bow. “Those thugs were thick as the Void. How has no one ever gotten in here before?”

“This only leads to the courtyard. We’ve still got to get into the building itself.”

“Don’t worry! It’ll be easy.” Quinn flashed his teeth in a grin. “Holy shit. We’re gonna be the ones who take down Slackjaw.”

And in the minutes that followed, creeping above the Distillery’s courtyard using the pipelines, bypassing the idling Bottle Street thugs below, making it inside the building without raising a single alarm, Corvo could really picture it. Returning to Rudshore, triumphant, Slackjaw’s corpse over their shoulder. The money they’d get from every client who wanted the gang leader gone would set the Whalers up for months. He wondered vaguely what Daud would say, what the look in his eyes would be when he discovered what they’d done. Anticipation clenched in his gut, making him almost giddy.

“We’re gonna take him down,” Quinn repeated excitedly as they came closer to Slackjaw’s office. They heard his footsteps as he paced, just beyond the wall at the end of the corridor. “This is it. Just you watch.”

It all went spectacularly wrong from there.

Looking back, Corvo now saw all too clearly the chain of events they’d caused with their own stupidity. _Master assassins, indeed_ , he thought bitterly whenever he reflected on that night.

He could point out every mistake they had made. They hadn’t noticed the tripwire stretched taut across the width of the corridor. They hadn’t used dark vision to check the way for the other traps that were strung up for intruders. They had been so eager in their arrogance, overconfident in their abilities, that they hadn’t thought to close the doors behind them on their way in, to muffle any sound they might make.

As the tripwire snapped against Quinn’s ankle, the incendiary bolt from the trap sprung loose and flew between them, hitting the wall. In their shock, they staggered into the next trap, which sent a steel bolt deep into Corvo’s shoulder. The explosion echoed down the corridor, and thanks to the open doors Corvo and Quinn had left behind them, the sound carried across the entire Distillery.

Even when they’d managed to escape the building and run back outside to the courtyard, Slackjaw’s boys had surrounded them. Corvo remembered that for a brief moment, with a bolt digging into his skin and his best friend wide-eyed and shaking beside him, he’d expected to die.

They fought, clumsily and managing to stay alive by the skin of their teeth, until Daud and Rulfio found them. Three of the thugs were dead in seconds, and Daud took a molotov whilst shielding Quinn; his coat was afterwards charred and stained black down one side. After a few moments of blood and shouting, Corvo felt Rulfio’s hand close around his arm, and then they were on a rooftop half a mile away. He had always envied the Whalers that could transverse like that, to any destination, within sight or not.

The sudden peace, the stillness compared with the chaos seconds before, made his ears thrum. He checked around for Quinn, and saw him further along the rooftop, slumped over, bloody, and breathing heavy. Corvo could hear the confusion from the Distillery in the distance, and he winced when he moved his shoulder; the adrenaline from the fight was dying down, pain fast replacing it.

“You both could have died, you– Couple of good for nothing idiots, the pair of you,” Rulfio hissed as he knelt down to put pressure on Corvo’s wound. The man looked worried out of his mind. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

 _We weren’t_ , Corvo answered in his head. He didn’t speak aloud. After seeing the fire in Daud’s normally cold eyes, he didn’t have anything to say.

***

Leonid, they discovered, had overheard their conversation in the archive room. She had snuck in there to be alone for a while, and had been about to tell them to keep it down when they’d disappeared to gather their gear.

“If not for her, you’d both be dead,” Daud growled.

“She came straight to me,” Rulfio added, “and let me know what you’d been discussing. _Thought it best you were aware, Rulfio, in case the two imbeciles were being serious_ , she said,” he muttered sourly. “And who would have guessed it. The two imbeciles _were_ being serious.”

Corvo and Quinn exchanged a look as they sat in the infirmary, their wounds being tended to. Corvo was grateful Daud hadn’t instructed them to go straight to the main chamber of the Commerce Building. Partly because he wanted his shoulder dealt with, and partly because the office was somewhere no Whaler wanted to be when Daud was clenching his fists like _that._

Daud had snarled and barked at them for Outsider knew how long, until Rulfio had managed to calm him down and convince him to let Montgomery and Akila get on with the bandaging. _Should let them both bleed out_ , Daud had said, even as he snapped at Montgomery to be more careful removing the bolt from Corvo’s shoulder.

“Slackjaw.” Rulfio shook his head as he paced among the infirmary beds. “Slackjaw. Of all the targets in the city, you poor excuse for assassins had to go after Slackjaw.”

“Would’ve got him, if it weren’t for that tripwire,” Quinn mumbled. “We were twenty steps from his bloody office–”

“Not another word,” Daud cut him off. A fresh bout of rage was clearly brewing, but Rulfio laid a hand on his shoulder to ease him down. Daud had made his frustration clear enough.

Montgomery glanced up from where he was binding Corvo’s shoulder. “Any other injuries I should know about?”

Corvo shook his head.

“Lucky for you, Bottle Street doesn’t use poisons like Lizzy’s people,” their doctor continued, inspecting his work whilst Quinn griped on about how close they’d gotten to Slackjaw’s office. “And lucky for you that Daud and Rulfio found you when they did.”

They knew how lucky they were. Corvo’s shoulder had been weakened by the bolt, and if Daud and Rulfio hadn't arrived, he knew he wouldn’t have lasted much longer with a slackening arm.

“How did you get into the Distillery.” An order to be told, not a question. Corvo hazarded a glance at Daud, whose hard gaze was firmly on him as he awaited a response.

“A cargo door, by the main entrance,” he answered quietly. “I noticed it was broken, open enough for us to fit under.”

He was responded by silence. Risking another glance, Corvo was quick enough to notice the corner of Daud’s mouth quirk upwards, until Rulfio’s exasperated voice cut through.

“Arrogance,” the older Whaler bit at them, and Daud’s expression returned to a scowl. “What did you think was going to happen? You’d stroll out of there with Slackjaw’s body, easy as that? A few days out of training and you think you can take on the whole fucking city. You’re worse than Billie.”

Quinn glared, insulted. “Billie’s never made it _into_ the Distillery. We did– Ow, fucking ow, Akila!”

“Stop squirming, then,” Akila instructed, having jabbed the Whaler with the stitching needle to shut him up and spare Rulfio’s deteriorating patience.

“And you?” Rulfio narrowed his eyes at Corvo. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Corvo chewed on the inside of his mouth, embarrassed and in pain and wanting nothing more than to disappear. He didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought.” Rulfio sighed, rubbing his temples between his thumb and forefinger. “Void, I thought you were both smarter than this. We have the right mind to take those coats from you, and have you scrubbing floors in Rudshore the rest of your lives, never to leave again.”

Corvo gaze snapped up to him. He’d never heard of that happening to anyone, not even to Arden after he’d gotten drunk and streaked past the High Overseer’s Office for a bet.

Quinn shook his head. “Rulf, no–” He looked at Daud, pleading. “Sir, that’s not gonna happen, right?”

Corvo was surprised to see their leader’s eyes soften slightly, if only for a split second.

“As it happens,” Rulfio continued. “Daud and I have agreed that a few months grounded here is enough punishment. And maybe even enough time to cram some brains into those thick skulls of yours.”

“Four months,” Daud added gruffly. “Neither of you are to leave Rudshore again until I permit it.”

Quinn heaved a sigh of relief, for once not about to argue. “Yes, Sir.”

“Is that understood, Attano?”

Corvo gave a nod.

“Idiots,” Rulfio muttered under his breath, as he and Daud made for the doors. “Oh, and just to make it clear, I wasn’t joking about scrubbing the floors. Once Mont and Akila are finished with you, you’re stationed in the kitchens for the foreseeable future.” The Whaler’s smile was acidic as he strode from the room.

Daud followed after shooting a final glimpse at Corvo’s injured shoulder.

***

“Outsider’s eyes.” Rulfio breathed an exasperated laugh as they entered the office. “They have balls, I’ll give them that. Balls too big they’ll need a wheelbarrow if they aren’t careful. By the Void, they scared me tonight.”

Daud grunted his agreement, snatching his lighter from the desk. He needed a cigarette. He needed the whole pack. Corvo Attano and Quinn Hastings, he decided, should not be allowed within five Districts of each other. Quinn dragged Attano into trouble, and Attano’s influence had made Quinn more and more impulsive over the years. Daud should have known they’d do something like this after passing their trials.

“You didn’t ask Mont to look you over.” Rulfio examined the side of Daud’s singed coat, concerned. “That molotov got you good.”

“Coat caught most of the blast,” Daud answered around his cigarette, taking a long, unhurried drag. He felt his muscles start to relax at last. “I’ll return to the infirmary later.”

He offered Rulfio a smoke from the pack, which the Whaler gratefully accepted. They sat either side of the desk, exhausted.

Once Leonid had visited them, and after they’d discovered Quinn and Corvo were indeed missing from Rudshore, Daud didn’t think he’d ever seen Rulfio so terrified. His inner circle, Billie, Thomas, Rulfio, those who had been with him the longest, weren’t supposed to have favourites among the men. But Rulfio had always had a soft spot for Attano, since the day he arrived. And if Daud was honest with himself, which he rarely was these days, he did as well.

“Should’ve given a longer punishment. A year, perhaps,” he grumbled.

“Four months stuck here will be enough to set them straight,” Rulfio assured him. “Though I’m loathe to admit it, they’re clever kids. Too clever for their own good at times.” Cigarette smoke  clouded around his mouth as he chuckled. “They got into the Distillery through an open fucking cargo door. Only Corvo could have noticed something like that. That devious little shit.”

“Mm.” Daud tried to sound disapproving, even as he felt pride spreading through his chest.

***

EIGHT YEARS LATER

“So that was that,” Quinn sighed dramatically. “We weren’t allowed to leave this dump for four months. Scrubbing floors and doing shitting laundry all day.”

Samuel chuckled as the story came to a close, while Corvo felt his face reddening.

“Why’d I let you tell this,” he muttered, knocking back his whisky. Although the beverage was somewhat tainted for him after that particular night.

“C’mon, Attano,” Quinn grinned, raising his bottle towards him. “You needed a break from deciphering Campbell’s book, you’ve been working on it two weeks straight. Plus Samuel asked real nicely to hear the story,” he added, grin widening. “And it’s more fun if you’re here, ‘cause you go bright red whenever it’s brought up.”

Corvo glared, feeling the heat travel down the back of his neck.

“You were both only seventeen?” the boatman asked, sounding impressed.

“Yeah. Youngest ever to become master assassins,” Quinn said proudly.

“Youngest ever, and with the least brains to spare,” Rulfio muttered, smirking when Quinn stuck out his tongue.

“Should’ve invited me along with yeh,” Arden slurred, now on his fourth tumbler of whisky. “Ain’t no one takin’ out Bottle Street without me there. I’ll fuck ‘em all up, y’hear me, I’ll fuck every one of them bastards right up their fuckin’ arses.”

"Charming," Feodor muttered.

“Alright, Arden,” Galia said, prying the glass from the Whaler’s hand. “Think you’ve had plenty of that for tonight.”

While Arden tried to fight her off, Corvo felt something nuzzle the side of his jaw.

“I was tempted to keep you both grounded here for longer, after the stunt you pulled,” Daud murmured against Corvo’s hair.

It was a rare occasion, their leader joining them for a game of Nancy; he was usually more content to prowl about his office, reading some book or going over reports. Or most recently, enjoying Corvo in his bed. But he seemed to be enjoying himself here, with the whisky’s help. Corvo liked to think that perhaps his presence had something to do with it, as well.

“You know I’m bad at staying put.”

“That may be so. But if you ever think of trying to go for Slackjaw again, I’ll have you scrubbing floors for four years instead.”

Corvo had to admit, their heads together, Daud’s lips close to his ear, he was tempted to agree with anything and everything the man said. But pride got the better of him. “I’m allowed to pick and choose my jobs. Your words,” he argued. “But tell me about your time at the Academy, and I might be convinced to leave Slackjaw be.”

No one knew the exact details of Daud’s winter spent at the Academy of Natural Philosophy, apart from perhaps Rulfio, who teased certain details to their curious novices from time to time.

“I refuse,” Daud growled. “And I forbid you to go near the Distillery ever again.”

Corvo glanced Quinn’s way.

The Whaler grinned at him. _Dare you_ , he mouthed.


End file.
